Special People
by celadon
Summary: Don reflects, post Soft Target. Oneshot.


_**Special People**_

_By _

_Celadon_

It's not that the words had surprised him, exactly - there was nothing surprising about them. They had been a continual, underlying refrain to his growing up years. What had surprised him was the way they had blindsided him, like a sucker punch to the gut. Who could have suspected that those words still had the power to hurt him, even after all this time? To make him feel that his own accomplishments were so - dismissable? Second rate?

_"We always figured Charlie would end up doing something special."_

The implication being, of course, (not that anyone ever said it out loud, or _ALMOST _no one did, anyway) that nobody figured anything of the kind about him. _Don't worry, Donnie, nobody expects anything special from you. We all know the lay of the land around here. Charlie's special - you're just - ordinary._

Maybe it was just that it had come from her. Or maybe it was the follow up of his father's and then Charlie's one-two punch. Were they saying that he should have stepped aside for Charlie - even though he had only been thirteen years old? Was she saying that she would rather he had? Wow. It had just been …a day for surprises.

Still, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. Stepping aside for Charlie had been a way of life in those days. At least, it had seemed that way to him.

"_You understand, don't you, sweetie? It's just that - well - Charlie has special needs - special abilities. And we have a responsibility to see that they're developed. Having someone like Charlie means we all have certain responsibilities…" _

Yeah. Okay. He got it. Shut up, Donnie, and get out of the way. And mostly he had. No big deal. He had figured out ways to take care of his own not-so-special needs and he had scraped along all right. It was just…that had been one place it had never even occurred to him to step aside: with girls. After all, he was eighteen, Charlie was just thirteen - they shouldn't even be looking at the same girls, right?

Well, wrong, evidently, and looked like everybody had known that but him. Or _had_ he known something like that, way deep down inside?

He shook his head.

Not sure. It had been so long ago, and he had been so young - a kid himself. Maybe he _had_ felt a need to prove that he could do something, that he was good at something too - maybe. Or maybe he had just needed a date for the prom.

He rounded the corner of the long corridor blindly.

It's not like sharing his senior year with his kid brother had been any picnic for him. He had tried to explain that to Charlie, but Charlie had cut him off. He couldn't actually be sure he had even heard him. He knew Charlie hadn't been able to see his side of it seventeen years ago and he hadn't really expected him to, but he had thought maybe, now that they were both adults… oh, well. Charlie was like… that Hubble telescope. What his lens was focused on he saw better and farther and more clearly than other people could imagine seeing - dimensions beyond, into another universe. But everything outside of the immediate compass of that powerful lens…well, that was just blank space. Emptiness. He couldn't see it at all. So if you happened to fall outside of lens-range, well…

Charlie was just being…Charlie. No point in being upset about it. Special rules for special people. Right?

Still, he had felt badly afterward, guilty. He had thought that stuff was all behind them, that his return to LA had marked a brand new start between them. He had been willing to let go of the past, or thought he had. Now they were working together, eating together, even playing together. Who knew that that had been hiding in the background all this time, waiting to ambush them?

He punched the button to call the elevator and waited.

So he had apologized. He had meant it. He had also really, really not wanted to get into all that again, to feel badly on Charlie's account, to feel badly on his own. It seemed like Charlie had accepted his apology - maybe even been a little embarrassed by it. And he had admitted that he hadn't gotten Don in those days - that they totally hadn't gotten each other. True enough. Maybe it was still true, even. Maybe they were just kidding themselves about things being different now.

Because he still couldn't quite see where he had miscalculated back then, misstepped, though everybody seemed to agree that he had. Well, what did they expect - he wasn't the calculating genius here. All he could do was try again and make amends where he could. So when Val's now-grown cousin had shown up at the wedding looking for an escort, he had done what came naturally - stepped aside. Maybe good will counted for something, maybe that had been enough and things were okay now. Just as long as he kept that side-step honed.

What he remembered best himself from those days was the need to escape from the blinding glare of Charlie's brilliant intellect - to see if he could find a place where there was breathing room for him and his ordinary pursuits, where nobody would be waiting expectantly for him to be everlastingly stepping aside. College and then the Stockton Rangers had provided some of that. It had been nice to be just Don Eppes, instead of Don-Eppes-that-brilliant-kid's-not-so-brilliant-older-brother, or Don-Eppes-that-geeky-weirdo's-older-brother, or Don-Eppes-that-nice-Charlie's-kind-of-scary-do-you-think-he'll-end-up-in-jail brother.

He smiled a little as the elevator doors dinged open.

Okay, that last one had always sort of amused him, if only because it had clearly set him apart from Charlie. No one would ever worry about Charlie turning into a felon. Probably that's what was partly behind all those afternoons in detention, too, all those notes that needed signing by a parent - staking some unique territory all his own. He might be the ordinary brother, but he was damned if he was going to let them forget that he was there.

He found the number for his floor and pushed.

The Stockton Rangers had been great for that for a while - so different from home. It was loud and physical and visceral and nobody seemed to know or care about multiple compounding variable equations. But he could still remember that day he had hit that double - could hear the crack as the bat connected, see the motes of dust floating in the air, feel the sting of the sun on the back of his neck. And recall, with absolute clarity, that moment he knew - _knew_ - that he was a good ball player: strong hitter, fast runner and fearless fielder, but that he would never be great. Never be - well - special. He was stunned at the way it had deflated him. That day he had applied to the FBI.

The FBI had been different - refocused him, as if he'd discovered his own Hubble telescope. It wasn't that he'd suddenly felt special there - nothing like that at all. It was that the work had caught at him, absorbed him. That it seemed so important, so meaningful, so worthwhile, that it just didn't matter how he stacked up in the bigger picture. What mattered was getting it done.

And it had been a good fit. The restless recklessness that had gotten him into so much trouble in his teens was applauded there and there was a lot of latitude for a guy who worked by his instincts. He had considered those things his strengths on the job, so when he had been offered the promotion to Albuquerque, his director's words had caught him by surprise:

_"You seem to have a real way with the analytical, Eppes. And by the way - impressive scores on the IQ tests."_

He was embarrassed to remember that he had just stared at the man, had just stopped himself from blurting, _Oh, come on. You've got to be kidding. You should see my brother Charlie's._

Ouch. Funny to find that still lingering back there. Maybe his Dad was right, and the further you ran, the closer to home you ended up.

The elevator doors dinged open and he stepped through. He saw who he was looking for and lifted a hand to get her attention, "Hey, Nadine."

She smiled the way she always did when she saw him, flirtatious and all-business at the same time. His heart started to hammer a little faster despite himself. She always had that affect on him. He had never had a woman pursue him so straight-forwardly and it flattered and amazed and intrigued him, even while it made him a little nervous.

"Well, this must be my lucky day!" Her voice just avoided being a purr. "What brings you down here? Me?"

Don laughed, his brooding thoughts scattering like magic. Somehow, she always made him laugh. "Well, you and the Leiderman investigation. I hear that's landed on your desk."

"And yours too?" her eyes twinkled. "Guess it _is_ my lucky day."

Don sobered. "Yeah, well, it should be somebody's, cause it sure wasn't theirs."

Nadine nodded, instantly serious. "Not going to be easy, you know. Right now we've got nothing to really make it stick - just a lot of circumstantial evidence and supposition. The defense team is already figuring ways to get it kicked out of court. He's got a good chance of wiggling free, unless you can get something solid from the witness."

Don shook his head. "I pushed as hard as I dared, but - I want to see if we can't find another way first. She's been traumatized enough. Hate to put her through more if I don't have to."

"Hm." Nadine mouth curled into a smile, and Don eyed her suspiciously.

"What?"

"Nothing." They reached her office and she gestured him inside ahead of her. "A G-Man with a heart. Guess that's what makes you so special."

Don gave a short laugh. "Think you're confusing me with my brother Charlie." He could have kicked himself. Where the heck had that come from? Served him right for dragging his personal problems to work.

Nadine didn't seem to notice. She went behind the desk and rifled through a stack of files. She selected one and began flipping through it. "Hm? Oh, yeah, Charlie's sweet."

Don was perversely miffed at her casual dismissal of his brother's tremendous intellect, and before he could stop himself, he burst out, "Sweet? Nadine, the guy's a genius. I mean, his IQ is, like, off the charts."

Damn. Real smooth, Eppes. This is why you're not dating these days. And to think you used to be pretty good with girls. Guess that got lost somewhere in the last seventeen years too.

Nadine lay the file open on the desk and picked out a sheaf of papers. "Mm. I'd heard that." She met his eyes squarely, and under the mischievous twinkle he caught a glimpse of a kindling warmth. She held his gaze. "Guess I just prefer a guy with a ticker that's off the charts." One slender forefinger tapped lightly over his heart. "Special Agent Eppes." She handed him the sheaf of papers. Don took them numbly. "You know, we could look at those over lunch. If you're free."

Don blinked. _Special Agent Eppes. _Funny how he'd never quite heard it that way before. Looked like this was a day for surprises, too.

Don looked down at the papers, then back at her, groaning inwardly. _Sheesh. Talk about not knowing how to close…pull it out, Eppes - pull it out! _"Sure. I mean, that'd be great."

"Good. And since it's official court business, I'll treat." She reached into a drawer and pulled out her purse. "But I pick the place. I'm hoping for more than ice cream this time."

_And maybe, just maybe, special was in the eye of the beholder anyway._

He grinned, suddenly relaxed again. "Deal. But next time it's on me."

"Oh - _next _time. I like the sound of that." She moved past him to the door, and he allowed himself to savor the retreating view for just a minute before he followed.

_Hope you don't have any ideas about this one, Charlie, because I'm be damned if I'll be stepping aside this time. _

Nadine paused with her hand on the light switch. "Ready?"

"Right behind you." Don pulled the door closed behind them and cupped a proprietary palm around her elbow to guide her through the halls.

_Besides, I think we're both a little old for another fight on the lawn. _

The End _(November 2005)_


End file.
